


C•H•O•S•E•N

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Boyband AU, Gen, Idol AU, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Zine: The Regalia Mixtape (Final Fantasy XV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: Fame. Youth. Beauty. Legions of adoring fans. As the baby of ultra-famous boyband C•H•O•S•E•N, Prompto really has it all.It's not all glamour, though; C•H•O•S•E•N is a boyband with a hidden side, one that their fans would never suspect...Written for theRegalia Mixtape zine!
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	C•H•O•S•E•N

“Blondie. You ready?”

Prompto pouts. He _hates_ that callsign — how come the other guys all get cool ones?

 _“Blondie._ Do you read?”

He sighs. Gladio — or _Eagle_ as he is on radio chatter — is audibly impatient. It’s better not to piss him off.

“Loud and clear, Eagle,” he murmurs, hiding the words with a sip from his champagne glass. “Approaching target now.”

He drinks a gulp of champagne for courage, steels himself, then strides across the floor.

Normally, a guy like him — the youngest of their four-man group, with a head of bright blonde hair and abundant freckles — would stand out. This is the afterparty to one of the biggest awards shows of the year, though, so the venue is jam-packed with the rich and famous. Even Prompto is a little starstruck.

He knows his mission, and he’s focused as he slips through the crowd, waving at various familiar faces as he goes.

His target is a producer in the music industry, known for her considerable acumen. She’s worked with some of the biggest names out there, and brought fame to those who might otherwise have lived a life of obscurity. It’s also notoriously difficult to get a minute alone with her — luckily for Prompto, he only needs to get close.

“Camelia Claustra,” he says, sliding past the bodyguards stationed conspicuously a few feet from her. “Congrats on all those wins! Betcha weren’t surprised though, huh?”

Silently, he wills her not to send him away. CHOSEN might be a pretty big name in the pop industry, but Claustra works for a rival label. Technically, he’s violating his contract just by talking to her.

Of course, _technically,_ his contract isn’t even real.

“Mr. Argentum,” she says dryly. “It’s unusual to see you without your bandmates in tow.”

He shrugs and flashes a grin.

“Gladio’s chatting up the girls,” he says. “Noct’s… I don’t know, hiding out writing lyrics. Iggy went to bed early. Party pooper.”

They might be radio silent, but he doesn’t need to hear Ignis to know he’s probably scowling right about now.

“Actually, I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” he says.

He lets his smile slip a little, dropping his voice and bridging the distance between them. Barely a foot away. Perfect. Time to drop the code word.

“I wanted to get _close_ enough to have a chat.”

Within his pocket, he knows the cell phone he carries has activated, courtesy of a touch of a button from Ignis. He angles that hip towards Claustra as he speaks, glancing around like he’s paranoid.

“You probably know my contract’s gonna be up in October,” he says. _“Everybody’s_ speculating about it.”

They’ve been speculating about the very public — and very _fake_ — feud that’s been taking place between Prompto and Noct for months, too.

Claustra lifts an eyebrow. By now, she’s caught his meaning.

“Oh?” she says. “Am I to assume you’re… considering your options?”

“Oh, no,” he laughs. He leans close and touches her arm, as if they’ve known each other for years. “I wouldn’t wanna go behind my label’s back. I’m just… having a friendly conversation, is all.”

“I’m not sure that we have room at Accordo Records for another boyband,” she says. “Sector 7 have been loyal clients for years.”

“Of course,” Prompto says brightly. “And I _totally_ wouldn’t wanna step on their toes. But I’m not looking for a boyband. I wanna go _solo.”_

“Solo? That’s unexpected.”

“Yeah, well.”

Prompto shrugs. He tries to calculate how long they must’ve been talking now — if it’s been long enough.

“You can only get so far being the baby of the group. Nobody takes me seriously. But I’ve been working on new material — I really dug deep for it, y’know? I think you’d be pleasantly surprised.”

“I can’t say anything until I hear something,” Claustra says. In spite of her clipped tone, he can see there’s a hint of interest in her eyes. “You send me the files and I’ll take a listen. That’s the best I can offer.”

To even give that much proves it: Prompto knows he’s here for something much more important, but he can’t help the little thrill of pleasure he feels at her interest.

It’s not like he’s planning on leaving Insomnia Records any time soon, of course.

“Okay, great!”

Internally, he tries to count the minutes it’s been since he first started talking to her. Better to give it just a little more time to be safe.

“Oh, hey,” he adds, resting a hand on her arm and leaning close. “I forgot to tell you how lovely you look tonight.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him with something of a disapproving glance.

“Send me those files. And please don’t waste my time.”

Prompto gives a nod. He can’t help but swallow nervously as Claustra’s cold eyes settle on him one last time before moving elsewhere.

He knows, without needing to be told, that his time is up.

_Hope that was long enough for ya, Iggy._

* * *

Noct stands at the front of the stage, a single light shining on him, while the others stand in total darkness. There’s no music, just his voice — and the crowd is rapt.

Even Prompto has to admit that it makes for an impressive sight. They are, after all, performers; that they were also picked for their other talents is secondary when they’re on stage.

He knows Noct has the audience in his thrall; knows that the member of their little four-man group with the callsign of _Prince_ is the real reason people stand on line for literally days to get a good spot near the rail. 

He wonders what those screaming, adoring fans would think if they knew their favourite was a _spy._

Prompto’s cue is up — the light shines down on him and he sings into his mic, adding a soft harmony to Noct’s vocals. The music joins them, building slowly, steadily, like the rumble of an earthquake — all at once it slams in, and Ignis steps forward with his effortless choreography.

The crowd are singing along, chanting their words; the feeling of so many sets of worshipful eyes on them, drinking them in, is intoxicating.

Their other job might be full of risk, full of _danger,_ but this? This carries a thrill all of its own, and it’s as addictive as any drug.

* * *

Prompto tries not to fidget as Ignis fixes his collar. He must not be doing a very good job, because there’s impatience in Iggy’s eyes — impatience, but a _tiny_ little bit of fondness, too.

“You’re nervous,” Ignis says.

_No duh._

Prompto hadn’t been expecting the call from Claustra even _before_ they cracked the encryption on her cloned phone. With the intel they’d managed to glean from it — phone numbers, email addresses, even classified documents that a record label manager had no business having access to — they had everything they needed. A one-on-one chat with Claustra, however, meant that Prompto would have access to the Accordo Records HQ, and that was an opportunity the Powers That Be weren’t willing to pass up on.

“That obvious, huh?” Prompto says meekly.

He’s glad he’s in black; he can already feel the sweat pooling under his arms, and the last thing he needs is to show up with pit stains on his shirt.

“Prompto.”

Ignis gently tugs at his collar, looking into his eyes. There’s no worry in his expression; nothing to betray that he has any misgivings about this mission. He’s always been good at keeping his emotions in check.

“There’s a reason they chose _you_ for this,” Ignis says. “You’re the man for the job.”

Prompto huffs out a shaky laugh. Of course Ignis would say that — and of course they chose _him._ Noct’s on top of his game in CHOSEN, has the world at his fingertips; Claustra would never have believed that _he_ wanted to jump ship.

Still, he’s grateful for Ignis’s reassurance. Iggy’s not one to mince words, even with Prompto.

“From what we can tell, Accordo’s security operates via keychips that unlock doors corresponding with the embedded encryption.”

Ignis pauses, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from Prompto’s face; like a contented cat, Prompto leans into his touch.

“You’ll be given a visitor’s pass on arrival, which will only provide you with low-level access. You’ll have to duplicate a high-level chip to get to where you need to go.”

Prompto wrinkles his nose.

“Question. Why can’t I just… _borrow_ hers?”

With a sigh, Ignis fits the palm of his hand against the curve of Prompto’s cheek.

“Because,” he says, with infinite patience and love, “the executives wear their chips embedded into their clothing to prevent theft. Besides — how long do you think it would be before she noticed it missing and followed the trail back to _you?”_

The thought of it brings back unpleasant memories of the _last_ operation that went south, when an old flame had almost blown Prompto’s cover while he’d been somewhere he technically shouldn’t have been. He can hear the imaginary alarm bells going off in his head.

He swallows. Screwing this up is _not_ an option.

“Dupe the chip,” he says faintly. “Got it.”

* * *

Camelia Claustra is a busy woman — that much, Prompto isn’t surprised about. What he hadn’t banked on was being made to wait for close to an hour with literally zero idea of how much longer she’ll be.

It doesn’t help that he’s starting to get antsy. Every time one of the big, dark-suited security guys walks past the waiting area, he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. His face is so hot he could fry an egg on it.

There’s no Ignis in his ear to encourage him; nobody to ask for reassurance. This one’s all on him. It’s right as he has this little realisation that his stomach cramps with anxiety. He has the incredibly compelling urge to _run._

“Camelia’s making you sweat, is she?”

He looks up — and up, and up, and up. The man standing in front of him is tall and willowy, with shoulders so broad Prompto wonders if he ever has trouble fitting through doors.

_Ravus Fleuret._

Even in a decidedly modest outfit of skinny jeans, a tee, and a jacket, Ravus is unforgettable with his white hair and mismatched eyes. The last time Prompto saw him, he was up on stage with his sister and musical collaborator, Lunafreya; they’d both been dressed like tree spirits while they jammed on their synthesisers and crooned in harmony. They might be weird, but they’re practically royalty in the music industry.

With an undignified sound, Prompto chokes on his tongue. 

Ravus’s pale eyebrows furrow slightly, but a moment later he’s glancing away, his strong features in profile.

“She does this,” he remarks distractedly. “Treats you like you’re some temp here for an interview. It’s so she can haggle you down for a cheaper contract.”

He’s surprisingly candid. Prompto can only gape.

“Come on. I know of somewhere a little nicer for you to wait.”

He’s offering his hand, beckoning. Prompto stares at those long, slender fingers, at the immaculate nails painted in a black so deep that it feels like he’s falling into it.

With a nod, Prompto takes his hand and stands.

The receptionist raises an eyebrow as they approach her little desk area. Ravus leans against it with a bored sigh.

“If Camelia comes looking for him, tell her I brought him to my usual spot.”

With a permissive nod from the receptionist, they set off again. They’re headed back to the elevator.

“Won’t I get in trouble for not being where I’m s’posed to be?” Prompto asks timidly, as he shuffles into the corner of it.

Ravus has his back to him, but Prompto can see his expression reflected in the polished mirror-face of the doors as they slide shut. He looks untroubled.

Ravus leans toward the elevator panel, and a light blinks across the screen. He presses the button to the eighteenth floor: one of the executive areas, top-level access. A jolt of giddy excitement rushes through Prompto. Ignis had wanted him to dupe an executive keychip — he never said that it _had_ to be Claustra’s.

He stuffs his hand into his pocket just as Ravus turns around. With that piercing gaze on him — one eye steely grey, the other violet-blue — the elevator feels a little smaller, a little more cramped.

Ravus takes a step closer just as the elevator lurches to life.

“Allow me to offer you some advice.”

He moves forward, and he seems to tower all the more over Prompto as the distance is swallowed up between them.

“When you’re a kitten amongst the lions,” Ravus says, resting his arm against the wall of the elevator by Prompto’s shoulder. He’s so close Prompto can see that his violet eye is shot with strands of cooler blue.

“It helps to become a lion.”

Prompto blinks. He reaches up, running his thumb along the edge of Ravus’s lapel — palms the tiny device in his grasp so that Ravus can’t see it. With a crooked smile, he tilts his chin up defiantly to meet Ravus’s gaze.

“Who says I’m a kitten?”

The elevator glides to a halt. Behind Ravus, the doors open with a pleasant chime.

Without batting an eyelid, Ravus turns and strides out into the hall. It’s all Prompto can do to keep up with his long, graceful gait — he already feels like he’s out of breath.

They pass offices walled off in glass, some of them frosted for privacy while others are clear. As they walk by an occupied room, the woman behind the desk glances up and the glass instantly fogs over, leaving only the faint glow of the light within. Prompto barely has long enough to wonder how that neat little trick works before Ravus is dragging him along again. 

Through a set of glass double doors, they finally reach their stop, and all Prompto can do is gaze around in disbelief.

It’s a terrace garden, way up high — so high the entire city seems like a scale model beyond. All around are water fountains made of glass — tall, spiralling sculptures that reach up toward the skies. Rivulets trickle down the glass so fluidly it almost looks like it’s raining.

Prompto’s captivated.

“Want one?”

When Prompto finally drags his glance back down to the world, Ravus has his hand stretched out, offering a box of cigarettes. Fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose, Prompto shakes his head.

It’s beautiful up here, so beautiful he could spend the whole day stepping in between the sculptures and admiring the way the light plays off them.

He’s getting sidetracked. He came here on a mission.

“Actually, uh. I’ve needed to pee since I got here but I was too nervous to leave the waiting room in case I missed Ms. Claustra. Could you point me in the right direction?”

A subtle smirk of amusement passes over Ravus’s lips. Prompto tries to ignore the voice screaming inside his head that he’s talking about his bladder to one half of the musical super-duo Nox.

“Turn right,” Ravus says. “Halfway down. You can’t miss it — it’s the only door _this_ will open.”

He leans in and plucks Prompto’s visitor pass between his pale fingers. With an appraising look, he lets it drop and moves away, lighting his cigarette as he goes.

Prompto doesn’t waste time on recovering — he just goes, ignoring Ravus’s directions and taking a left once he’s inside. He won’t have too much time before Ravus starts wondering where he went.

Taking off at a brisk walk, he hurries down the hall until he gets back to the elevator. Inside, he fumbles with the little device Ignis gave him, running it over the face of his visitor pass. He’ll have no idea if it worked until he tries.

“Thirty-third,” he mutters to himself as he hovers his fingers over the buttons on the panel inside. “Thirty-third… Bingo!”

With a triumphant flourish, he taps the button, and feels a cool surge of relief as the scanner recognises his pass’s credentials. Soon the elevator’s rolling upward, bringing him ever closer to his target.

* * *

Prompto takes a celebratory gulp of his alcopop. To him, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

“Nice work, Blondie.”

Gladio’s gruff voice is the only warning Prompto gets as a heavy hand claps down on his shoulder, frightening the life out of him. It’s all he can do just to make sure he doesn’t spill his drink.

“Uh, thanks, Gladio!”

It had been hairy for a little while there — he’d almost gotten caught on thirty-three as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, and it’d only been Ravus’s advice of _becoming a lion_ that had helped him through. From there, it’d mostly been smooth sailing: ducking into the right office, planting a bug, and getting out without causing a fuss. He’d been back to Ravus just as he’d begun stubbing out his cigarette.

A couple more drinks under their belts and Noct’s calling for karaoke — he ropes Gladio into it, but Prompto and Ignis linger behind.

“So what’s the verdict, love?”

Iggy’s voice is a welcome sound. It’s a soft purr, but it’s all Prompto hears, even with the guys’ drunken warbling filling the bar. Prompto leans in against him where they’re wedged into the corner of the booth, and allows his head to droop against Ignis’s shoulder.

“Verdict on what?”

Ignis laughs.

“On whether or not,” he says, “you’ll be leaving us for greener pastures.”

“Nah.”

Prompto sighs and tips back his drink. Relief tastes like blue raspberry and vodka.

“I’m happy right where I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me on twitter [@orchardofbones](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones)!


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